Operation ROUGE
by PLC Cmdr.Hotshot13
Summary: What if the bonds restricted on KND service, such as decomissoning at age 13, are limiting the potential of operatives everywhere who still love the values of KND? Three words, and three words only: We are Playground Liberation Corps.
1. Prolouge

Now Loading Operation **R.O.U.G.E.**

**R**ouge

**O**peratives

**U**ndermine

**G**reatest

**E**xpectations

**Prologue**

_Just after the events in KND Operation SNOWING_

Numbah 077 "Oh-Double-Seven" squeezed the trigger of his custom Chocolate-Chip assault rifle, listening in satisfaction to the oddly high-pitched scream of a choclifyied teenager from within the bush to the right of the smashed Bus-Walker. Moving swiftly to the location of the teenager's unfortunate demise, he kicked the teen's Homework rifle a safe distance and prodded the moaning guy with the end of his rifle. Satisfied he wasn't going anywhere, Jason Clark slapped another clip into his rifle and allowed a slight smile to play across his lips. _He should have stayed inside watching TV instead of trying to play games with us kids_. But then the smile faded. A few months ago that sort of humor would have been worth repeating over a root beer at Ricky's later, but now…. Under the present circumstances, Jason was a little too close to actually _being_ a teenager for that to be funny.

In fact, he realized as he stepped back around the wrecked Bus-Walker to where the rest of his Sector- Sector K- was working, his thirteenth birthday had been yesterday. He was surprised Numbah 86 hadn't been breathing down his neck already with her D.O.H.-D.O.H.s. It was a grim thought, and the Operative pushed it out of his mind as he trudged through the ankle-deep snow to where the rest of his Sector stood consolidating their last clean-up sweep through the area.

"Hey skipper!" a familiar voice split the brittle cold air. "Sector P reports that they're all done mopping up on our right flank." Numbah 78, Matthew Sommers, was Sector K's 2x4 technology officer and Jason's long-time friend.

"Excellent, Numbah Seven-Eight. Have we completed our last two quadrants yet?"

"Yessir, Number Seventy-Nine is through and headed back as we speak. We're clear to lift as soon as she gets here."

"Understood, Seven-Eight. Good work, team."

Just then transport arrived, in the form of a KND SCHOOLBUS that had been modified into an assault transport. Conveniently enough, Numbah 79 showed up just as the crew was slinging their teen-finder gear into the bus, and the Sector lifted out of the one-time battlefield.

Numbah 78 found his way back to the rear of the bus and sat next to Jason, who was cleaning the mechanism of his Chocolate-Chip rifle painstakingly. Matt shook his head- the man spent more time with that rifle than with his own family.

"Well, skip, looks like another job well done for Sector K," he said, sitting down. A smile worked across Jason's mouth, then just as quickly dissolved. Matt frowned; Jason saw it and worked the smile back up as best he could. "Another one for the books, right, Seven-Eight?"

"That's right sir. And you and I write them."

"Yep." The smile faded again. "Wrote."

"Hey, so you're getting DeComm-ed (it was slang for Decommissioned). So what? I'm sure you'll find a way to keep on slugging it out against adult tyranny for a long time to come."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Heck, the teens do it well enough, don't they?" They laughed. When it had faded, Matt said:

"Yeah. But tonight, whatdoya say to a drink- heck, a bunch of drinks- at Ricky's and we remember the good times?"

"I think I might just take you up on that."

Matt grinned and had just turned his attention to his blinking communications link when there was a terrible lurch, the screeching of metal as the transport reeled in shock, and everything pitched into blackness.


	2. Chapter 1

Light was the first thing Jason Clark noticed, painful and piercing, coming in through all the wrong places where the SCHOOLBUS frame had shredded upon the impact. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes blearily.

The second was the state of his rifle. The barrel was bent irreparably and the stock would have been more describable as matchsticks. He almost-almost- shed a tear, moaning lowly in his throat, before common sense got the better of him. He quickly cast an eye around the bus at his Sector. All of them were currently unconscious, but none of them looked hurt, at least not beyond what a little sugar treatment couldn't fix. He would help them soon. But first he had priorities. Tactical sense flooded his brain, driving of the pounding headache he'd had a moment earlier. First things first. Secure the area. Find out what in the Yipper hit us. And then kill it.

He slid his Mustard pistol from its low-ride leg holster and checked the load. It was chambered and ready. Flicking off the safety, he clambered over twisted seats and metal frame to the door of the horribly mangled bus and taking a breath peered out.

The afternoon sun was the first detail he could make out, glinting painfully on the fresh blanket of snow.

The second was the unmistakable shadow of a Kids Next Door D.O.H.-D.O.H.

A wave of dread mixed with tingling fear spread throughout him, seeming to fill his veins. A dull part in the back of his mind thought this was odd, that in all his years of fighting adult tyranny he had never felt fear quite like this. Then an unforgettable Scottish brogue sealed the situation tight as a shroud.

"ALRIGHT TEENAGER, PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND SURRENDER. YOU'RE UNDER ARREST FOR NOT TURNIN' YOURSELF IN AT YOUR THRITEENTH BIRTHDAY!"

As Numbah 77 watched, the large hovercraft platform of the Decommissioning Unit's Command and Control came into view. Armed troops stood arrayed on the planking areas, each wearing high-tech Heads Up Display and targeting helmets. Numbah 86 stood in the middle of it all, resplendent as always in her green sweater and helmet. She stood weaponless, but her hand rested on her Mustard pistol in an unspoken warning.

He froze up. There was no better word for it. It was something he had never done before, not from the beginnings of his training at Arctic Base under Patton Drilovsky, not during his glorious career under KND, never. But now, under the pressure of having weapons pointed at him by men who were on his side, and the sudden mental tug that said softly that they weren't his side anymore, that they didn't want him, it happened. Ice cold tendrils began to creep through him, starting in his chest and reaching down his arms and legs. _They weren't his side._ He was considered their enemy.

Suddenly the coldness seemed to seize into him, and in that instant of realization he could see with an amazing clarity. He could see with immense detail the fact that Numbah 86 was perfectly exposed for a decapitating shot, or that the entire right-side engine of the Decommissioning Control was unarmored and exposed. He could see the KND operatives every weakness. He _was_ their enemy. He would get revenge for this… shredding… of his life by 86 and her stupid decommissioning.

He tensed to attack. But in the instant before he moved, something brushed his arm. He stopped. And looked back.

It looked strangely like a ghost, or what a ghost looked like in the movies. A clear blueish projection, almost like a KND hologram, of a robust old man in suspenders and a red checkered lumberjack shirt. He wore his hair bushy, with a thick mustache the color of red cedar. He shook his head sadly as if to convey a message of terrible and unerring importance. Then it dissapered.

Clark instantly knew what the…vision… meant. Suddenly everything was clear, completely crystalline and shining, laying before him like a map. There were two clear paths, each leading from a point he knew had to be this instant of the present. One was clouded, uncertain. But the other was sharp, defined by action and action involving the KND, and was the cold one he had briefly expereicned already.

He knew instantly which he should choose. Clearly if his future involved KND it must mean no decommissioning. That was what he wanted so desperately- wasn't it? All he had to do was shoot 86 now- he could see it, the others freezing for the split second he would need.

And yet-

"No." There was a voice from behind him, soft but firm. He spun around again. This time it was no illusion. It was Numbah 78.

"I know what you're thinking. Don't do it." He said in the same tone. Measured, calm.

_But he didn't know._ _He couldn't, could he_, Clark though viciously. _He's not the one facing decommissioning. I am! I should make this choice for myself. _

"No. Trust me."

Clark hesitated.

And made his choice.

* * *

Numbah 216 was detailed with securing the prisoner.

"Are you absolutely sure he's giving up?" he asked the situation commander for the fifth time.

"Look at him! He's standing there staring at the side of the bus like he's dreaming or something. Come on, he's no more harm than a Season Six Yipper deck." 216 made a face. Ever since 509 had conned him into buying that pack of cards, the most un-rare ones in the series, he had never let 216 forget it.

"Fine. Gimme the binders."

He snatched the cuffs from the chuckling commander of the backup Command hovercraft and jumped down into the ankle-deep snow. Trudging slowly across the landscape, he glanced warily at the teenager. He sure didn't look harmful. In fact he didn't look like he even had a clue what was going on. He was staring at the bus as though seeing something everyone else couldn't. Numbah 216 made sure his sidearm was riding loose anyway.

There was a warning shout from the Command craft behind him. He dropped to one knee and drew in one motion, taking aim at the teen-

Someone had come out of the bus from behind him. It looked like another operative. He was talking to him calmly. _Trying to get him to cooperate?_ 216 wondered.

He loosened his aim slightly.

And suddenly the ex-operative straightened. 216 struggled to bring his pistol back into line-

And screamed as a S.T.I.N.G.E.R. round cut across his hand.

Kids Next Door 2x4 Database

**S.T.I.N.G.E.R.**

**S**tinging

**T**riangular

**I**mprovised

**N**acelle

**G**ets

**E**nemies

**R**eeling

216 dropped his pistol, nursing his paper-cut hand.

And just then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Numbah 77 had made his decision.

He saw it all now. The cold path had been the one of darkness, the way so many escaped teens went, the one that resisted and fought the Kids Next Door. And although that path had been clear it had also been evil. He still wasn't sure what the other one would be, but anything was better than becoming a teenager. So instead of shooting 86, an officer, he had decided on something else. He needed time to evaluate this new path, time that immediate decommissioning wouldn't allow.

And so he had acted.

Numbah 78's S.T.I.N.G.E.R. shot was right on target. It should well have been. Matt practiced with the paper-throwing rubber band weapon all the time, and was known for his deadly accuracy.

Taking his friend's lead, Jason spun and dropped into a firing crouch, laying down a tactical spray of mustard across the Command barge. He took care not to target 86- shooting her now still reeked of teenager and the dark path. He took three operatives with three quick shots, each directly between the eyes.

The operatives there fired back also, but their shots were less accurate. They were hampered by the spraying effect of the mustard weapon, but also by the fact that one of their own was in the way. The operative 78 had shot sprawled near them, still holding his palm and cursing. Those S.T.I.N.G.E.R. rounds hurt.

Numbah 77 motioned an open hand back to 78, who nodded. 78 broke his fire pattern and ran back around the corner of the crushed SCHOOLBUS, taking up a strategic firing position on the far side that offered much more cover. He waved to Jason to fall back, but the commander shook his head. They would retreat soon, but first he needed to do something.

He rolled inside the remains of the bus. He was startled to find his sector all upright- and firing back on the Decommissioning operatives.

78 leaned a head in through the shattered window of the bus on the side he was on, the one facing away from the battle. He shouted something inaudible over the din of the battle- no need, as Numbah 77 was, like all soldiers, a natural lip reader.

He nodded and moved to each member of his sector, tapping their armored shoulder plates. "D.O.H.-D.O.H.'s moving in on the flank! Let's go, we're pulling out!"

He paused. "And thank you."

They nodded silently and each offered up a smile. Then they scrambled through the shattered window one by one and out onto the snow where 78 waited.

81 and 77 were the last two left. 81, the sector joke maker, grinned ruefully at his commander and said: "No big deal, sir. Nobody likes them DeComm bullies anyway. Besides, we thought we could use the practice."

Jason gave a hearty smile and slapped his squadmate heartily on the back. Then he gestured to the hatch and they made their way out, slipping away from the battle but only just entering the obstacle field beyond.


	3. Chapter 2

"Flash!"

"Thunder." Numbah 78 returned the code word in a harsh whisper to the figure stationed just inside the door of the hidden 2x4 hangar. He turned and motioned to the dark bushes behind him that lined the far side of the residential road. Four of the shadows cast by the streetlamps along the darkened subdivision broke away from the hedge and darted across the street to join 78. 77 moved up next to him and the 2x4 officer nodded.

"Sir, he's in there. We can go ahead."

"You're sure he'll help us?"

"Rob's a good kid, always pays his debts off. He'll cooperate."

"Good." Numbah 77 waved his men forward. 78 frowned and muttered under his breath; "I hope."

They had decided to lay low until dark, largely because of the massive search activity around the area. Fortunately Jason knew everything about 86 and the way she conducted operations, and thanks to his evasion training with Patton Drilovsky, he was able to keep the sector hidden. After nightfall, 78 had recommended that they head to the haouse of a freelance 2x4 operator who had been working with 78 on a new project to sell to KND. They needed to get out of the immeadiate area as soon as possible, before the grid Jason knew 86 had created closed in.

The garage was exactly the same as all the others on the block- connected to the house on one side, same design, same color. They went in through the small door at the side, 78 leading the way into the pitch black orifice.

The door closed behind them suddenly, blotting out what minimal light had drifted in from the street. 77 froze, bringing up his weapon.

A voice rang out from the darkness, everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Everybody stop. Put your weapons up. I'm going to turn on the light. Don't move."

A light seared across 77's vision. He grimaced, fighting the reaction to pull his sidearm and aim. The room swam slowly into focus.

A single kid stood in front of the operatives, pointing what looked to be a custom sidearm in their general direction. He seemed to recognize 78 because he lowered the gun.

"Matt, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?" He rubbed his eyes and gestured to his Rainbow Monkey pajamas pointedly.

"Look, Rob, I need a big favor. I know it's short notice and everything, but we need the A.T.T.A.C.K.V.A.N. Now."

"What?" Rob looked suddenly more awake. "But Matt, that's my life's work, you can't take her on a mission now! I-" He stuttered. "Besides, she's not finished yet." He ended lamely.

"Oh, come on, Rob, I was here when you finished it last weekend."

"Well I still haven't taken it out yet. I don't know if the avionics will even work… I mean, for crying out loud, the flight computer's a Bop-It!"

78 avoided the worried glare 77 shot him and strode over to the wall where there was a bank of 2x4 switches. "I can fly it. I know the controls, and-"

He froze. Numbah 77 grabbed for his weapon, but stopped when the now-angry 2x4 mechanic shifted his aim of Matt to 77.

"I…said…NO." He bit off each word through gritted teeth.

Numbah 77 motioned to his sector. They slowly begsan to drift apart, each of them moving so that they formed a semicircle around Rob. He nervously shifted his aim from one to another. Clark could see from the fear in his eyes that he knew all to well that if he shot one operative the others could easily bag him before he reset his aim.

"Leader." 77 was startled to hear Numbah 78's voice over the private frequency in his earpiece communicator. "Lemme talk to him a minute."

"You _sure_ he's safe?"

"Yeah. Just gimme a second."

"Well, if you're sure…"

77 motioned for the squad to holster their weapons. They complied, but they kept their semicircle formation.

Making sure not to move his hands toward his S.T.I.N.G.E.R., 78 moved over to the shaking mechanic. They conversed in low tones for a moment before the latter sagged. He let his pistol slide to the ground and slowly reached over to push one of the controls on the wall.

The partition groaned and after a moment of protest slid up.

Now Loading Kids Next Door Database

2x4 A.T.T.A.C.K.V.A.N.

**A**mazingly

**T**remendous

**T**actical

**A**ccomplishments

**C**an

**K**ommence

**V**ery

**A**uthoritatively

**N**eutralizing

The vehicle beyond was amazing for 2x4 standards. It had the basic chasis of a Honda 2003 Odyssey van, but the top had been customized with two massive missile racks. Giant dual drives jutted from the rear. Inside, Jason could see that the two captain's chairs seats in the middle had been turned sideways so that they faced the sliding doors, and that marble machineguns had been installed on free-pivots so that the sides acted as door gunners. The rear seat had also been turned around to allow for rear gunners.

"The rear seat can also fold down for troop transport." Rob said, proud despite his dispirited manner. "I designed it to play the role of gunship and transport."

"Don't worry, buddy, we'll bring her back in one piece."

"You'd better. If there's so much as a scratch-"

"Not one scratch."

The mechanic looked at 78 suspiciously. "Not a scratch?"

"Since when have I ever let you down?"

"More times than I can count." The mechanic said under his breath.

"Saddle up troops. 78, I assume you can fly this thing?" Jason said, taking control.

"Sure, chief. Or I can always learn quick."

"_That's_ reassuring."

A few moments later, however, the drives had fired up and the sector that was quickly becoming infamous all over the KND slipped into the night.


End file.
